Bound by Fate
by Nimechan
Summary: Something's afoot in Rune Midgard, and a strange event prompts Asher to leave home and find what's wrong. One by one, he meets people who share his story. Will Asher find his calling? Will be revised.
1. Prologue: Tale of Asher

Chapter 1 – Prologue: The Tale of Asher

Asher Oredan had heard tales of Rune-Midgard before our time of peace, as most have; the stories of warriors, divine beings, monstrous creatures, and their eternal war against one another. Such was the entertainment of children, as he was once (and sometimes thought himself as). They would marvel at these tales of heroes and villains, the quest for "justice" and "glory."

He feared them. The boy could not see the glory of war. Maybe it was because his storytellers were not only minstrels, but also his grandfather, who had fought during those harsh times. The wizened old man told of battles that would last days: smoke would cloud the skies, and lightning and hail made from those with magic would come down when you least expected it. He told the child of the endless clashing of swords, the arrows that seemingly materialized from the bodies of comrades who stood next to you, and the constant paranoia of having your head lopped off by sins (assassins, a word which his grandfather never mentioned without an oath before it) that drove a man to insanity if the fatigue and other terrors did not.

He never told Asher these tales without madness in his eyes, or a vacant stare that sometimes made the young boy fear he had died. And perhaps he did, inside. Asher could not see what his friends imagined what war was like because of this, but only the blood-soaked grass his grandfather would describe about the fields after battle, and the anguished cries of the wounded and for those lost. So when his grandfather died, Asher could only be happy that his grandfather no longer had to bear the nightmares of war.

However, Rune-Midgard could not. After decades of struggle, King Tristan III, preceded by his descendants, brought a time of peace upon the land; of light, and of calm. Monsters became stupid, passive, or faded into myth. The realm grew peaceful and prosperous. It was the Golden Age of New Rune-Midgard. For that reason Asher thought that he would never have to live the same horrors he grandfather did. As he grew older, however, the boy began thinking otherwise.

The peace that King Tristan had strived for now seemed strained and twisted. More and more monsters appeared in the land, and many became aggressive. People he knew, once selfless people, set out to vanquish the so-called evil with madness in their eyes, but different than that of my grandfather's: not the burning for justice, but the gleaming desire for riches, for _power_. By eight he had come to realize that, but it was the age of fourteen summer moons he did something about it. That year, on his birthday, he made a decision that changed his life; or, as he may argue, merely sent his Fate in motion.

That day, Asher was ready to become a man in my family, an adult of society, which all males that turned his age would be. Living in Einbroch, he was prepared to become a coal digger in the mines of his hometown, not to be bothered with what went on with the rest of Rune Midgard. What he wasn't prepared for was for a poring to appear on the family kitchen table, and least of all for it to attack him. Porings are passive creatures, but this one glowered at him with burning red eyes. It pounced on the young man, and Asher never realized until then how a gelatinous pink glob could look so evil. It tried to submerge his head in its goo, so he scrambled for a kitchen knife, trying to put as much space between the little creature and him as possible. Just as the blob came down upon him, he got hold of a fruit peeler and swiped into the air hazardly, cutting the jellopy inside in half.

The poring disappeared in a flash of light, but in its place was a shining yellow crystal which Asher had never seen the likes of before. Floating shoulder-length to Ashe, it glimmered in the dim light of the room, its smooth-cut sides flashing invitingly for him to touch it. Enchanted, Ashe unwittingly reached out to hold it.

The moment his hands brushed the gem, Ashe found himself standing in a vast, empty space of darkness. Confused, he called desperately for his parents and brothers, running forward but not touching any walls. It was an endless expanse of darkness, as if he were sucked into a different dimension. A low, chuckle sent him into a stand-still, its humorless and dark tone sending shivers down his spine. Before he had time to brace himself, a torrent of emotions overtook him. Despair, greed, lust, hatred, terror barraged his mind and body all at once. It was like a million voices calling out to him, begging to be heard, a mob that threatened to rip him apart as he screamed out in protest. The turmoil centered at his chest and mind, where he clawed desperately at, as if he could rip the pain away.

_I have found another…_

No sooner had he heard that dark voice did a singing pain burn on his arm. Ashe gave a final scream, and suddenly he was back in his kitchen, and the terrible feelings blissfully gone. Something inside me knew he couldn't stay. His heart once again burned as he remembered the utter despair he felt, the pain of those voices that penetrated his heart like a knife. Calling his family, he told them that he was going to go traveling and hoped that they could forgive him. His two brothers immediately rose in anger and protest.

Then, to all of their surprise, their parents gave Ashe their consent. All of them looked at the middle-aged couple: Two to object, and one to ask why; but the sadness in their eyes forced the siblings to sit down and wait as they gathered things for Ashe to take. Quietly Ashe's mother gave him a traveler's bag and cloak, containing a zeny pouch of 2k, two red potions and a half-week's worth of food, while his father handed him a sheath and dagger; a practical thing he used when he was a boy, he said. His older brother silently appealed for Ashe to give a reason Ashe could not offer, while his younger brother merely went to his room and refused to speak to him any further.

Relieved that he did not need to explain himself and miserable and guilty that he was leaving the only home he ever knew, Ashe turned to leave. His parents waved goodbye to him, telling him to "be safe." His last words to them were "I'll try."

And Ashe returned Fate's call.

o

So, how was it? This _is_ my first fic, so constructive critisicm would be nice. What was good, bad, and what did I need to improve on? Review please, since you all know that all beginning writers are review whores. )


	2. Chapter 1: Emerging Twilight

Chapter 1 – Emerging Twilight

Asher Oredan, full of gusto and determination, walked as confidently as he could out to the city gates. And it was understandable, too; the strange event that made him make the desicion to leave home was not his fault, so the gods had to be watching over him, right? Almost reaching sight of the dull-tinted colors forest that surrounded his town, Asher mentally slapped himself. He had almost forgotten to buy equipment that would protect him from Lord-knows-what while he traveled. Hurrying to the market place, the new traveler looked around hesitantly, and saw a stall that sold armor.

"Hey, there, young'un," the stall keeper drawled. "You one o' those gung-ho warrior wanna-be's out to set on makin' money off o' them monsters?"

Asher bristled at his insult, but ignored him and continued to look at the things he had on sale. Already the boy was feeling a little foolish, having no idea what to buy. The shop keeper seemed to know this, for he went on,

"Say, if yer just starten', you might wanna purchase this here armor. It's a bit pricey, but I'll give ye a discount, since yer new and all. I'd show you these magical cloaks, but they're over 20k. Outta your price range, by the looks of you."

"I'll think about it," Asher declined politely, but the owner kept trying.

"Aw, come on, young'un, it's a good set, and if yew don't wanna die the first day, ye better get this! Only a thousand zeny and I'll even throw in the eggshell helmet!"

The owner was persistent. Asher, a bit sheltered and shy, quickly became flustered. He hadn't had much experience with haggling. A few minute later, he sighed with defeat, finally reaching for his pouch. The stall-keeper's eyes gleamed in triumph.

"Excuse me. Nice stall you have here."

Both of us swiveled to face the owner of the voice. The shopkeeper scowled.

"What d'ya want, girl? I'm busy making a sale."

Yes, it was a girl; A young woman near or at her early twenties. She was a traveler, and a poor one at that, by the looks of her worn un-dyed cloak that hid her body. Her bangs were pulled back into a pony-tail except for a few brown wisps that framed her face. She was rather attractive, Asher had to admit, but her smile… it seemed almost playful and predatory at the same time, like a cat playing with a mouse. Her eyes, pools of amber, green and brown, twinkled with a sort of mischief. She strode forward.

"I would like to examine that armor set you have there," she remarked in a voice that voiced politeness and humor. Without waiting for him to reply, she hefted the armor from him. For a moment the man was surprised into silence, and that moment she looked at it with calculating eyes. Finding his voice, the stall-owner opened his mouth, but she beat him to it.

"This armor is made of only iron, and the inside is low-grade jellopy. It's much too heavy for a beginner like him, and even then it rusts easy and will get any man killed. You're better off sending this to the trash, and him to the coroner's."

He gave a jolt, thrown off. "Wha-! How did'ya know- I mean, y'can't make assumptions like that, girl!"

"It's quite obvious. That leather armor there, though; I suppose it's passable. I'll give ya…" she turned and whispered to me, "How much do you have on you?"

Asher gave a start and blushed. He wasn't used to girls so close to him, and this attractive girl made him nervous. "Uh, two thou–"

She turned back. "Two hundred zeny for it, at the most."

He looked at her as if she gone mad. "Are you crazy, woman?! This is worth five hunderd' more than what you're saying!" He seemed to be telling the truth this time.

"I don't know Mr. Stall-Owner," she smirked, "is five worth losing your stall because of false merchandise?"

"Wha-"

"Those cloaks up there that you say are spelled for defense? They're not. Complete fakes. Any merchant could tell."

"Y-you have no proof!" He was sweating now.

"Oh, really?" she turned and turned her eyes to a town guardsman a few feet off. "Oh GUARDS-"

"FINE!" He yelled, clearly frightened. "Two, and I'll include the helmet! Take it and leave!"

He pushed the goods towards her and turned away from the triumphant bargainers, nervously dusting his wares. She smiled and gathered the items. Open-mouthed, Asher didn't realize at first that she was indicating for him to leave the money on the table. Red, he dropped the notes, and before the young man could grasp what was happening, she dropped the stuff into his dumbfounded arms and strode away. Coming to himself he called after her, but she had gone by then.

Asher cursed his luck for not being able to thank her. He was raised proper; he felt bad he could not pay her back, or even express his gratitude. _But she did give me the stuff_, Asher noted on the bright side. It would do her even more wrong if he did not use it after the trouble she spent to get it for him. So he strapped them on (with a bit of difficulty; he hadn't worn armor before) and headed out.

* * *

As soon as she left, the girl in question went to a guardsman at the town square. She would be damned before she let someone sell counterfeit merchandise to anyone on her watch. It would do her family dishonor; and she had done enough of that. Her task done, she watched the boy from the holes in the crowd as he shook out of his stupor and left. She giggled. She hadn't played the mysterious benefactor to novices in a while, and his and the stall owner's faces were worth the small trouble.

Still watching, she smothered another laugh when she saw him struggling with the armor. He was definitely just starting out, she thought, smiling. Like Thomas should by now. Her face then went blank, as if she fell into deep thought. A sad smile graced her face, followed by an angry one, indignant that she had lapsed into sad thoughts without her telling herself to. Shaking out of her reverie, she saw the boy walking out of the town.

_Guess it wouldn't hurt to make sure he'll be alright…_

* * *

When Asher reached the gates of the city, he could only stand in awe at the mass expanse of tall, brown trees that lined parallel to the walls, a mere twenty paces from the stone bricks. He had only glimpsed them on occasion, having never left town before. His steadfast determination now wavered, fear and nerves slowly inched through his body. How big was the world really? He only now could comprehend it.

The weather was nice that day; the sky was an endless blue with only a few wisps of dirty clouds and smoke from smelters that floated lazily in their heavenly pool. _A perfect day to start out on a fool's errand_, Asher thought, which was what he was beginning to think his quest was. _Why had I left home?_ That question had not popped into his head for a second until he remembered the feelings of terror and despair that threatened to rip his heart apart, and the dark chuckle that turned his soul cold…

_Oh yeah, that's why._

He spotted a poring in clear view, hopping towards an apple that had fallen from a bush. Asher wasted a moment wondering why they grew on bushes instead of trees (maybe not enough nutrients in the ground) and began his perusal. He sneaked towards it, and it paid him no mind. Porings have a one-track mind, he supposed. A mere five feet away, the boy jumped and stabbed violently into the ground.

That did no good. Though he had hit the poring, the jellopy heart was still intact. It slid off his dagger, longer than the kitchen one he had used previously, and began to attack me. Of course, it didn't do much damage, but Poring gelatin was slightly acidic, and Asher knew that if didn't pierce it soon, his skin would rash slightly. Swiping desperately at the core, he cut the jellopy in half. It melted, leaving behind an apple and the crystal jellopy. He picked both items up; it would not do for him to waste food, and he could save up the jellopy and try to sell it to the armory shop, which used it to make certain items.

Asher went deeper into the forest. The western sky was turning light shades of every color; to the east the moon's pale face was faintly visible. It was near twilight, but he was not so ready to make camp after testing his dagger on a few porings and aggravatingly tough plants. He managed to procure a technique where he jumped and plunged the dagger into his prey. There seemed to be something wrong with it; it was probably because he thought he heard someone laughing the first few times he did it, even though he was quite sure no one was there. He decided he needed to have more confidence in himself.

He spotted another poring in a clearing far ahead. Heading closer, though, he realized that the poring was… abnormal, to say the least. It was grey, and its face looked a bit like a skull. Maybe it was a sick and dying. _Well,_ Asher decided, _might as well put it out of its misery._ He pounced, and to his surprise, it pounced on him. His arm, where the strange poring landed, gave him a sharp pain, and the young man yelped. He heard a _whosh_, and a split second later the strange poring melted, leaving only a rusty screw and a large jellopy with an arrow sticking out of it.

"Hey, hey, hey, now," called out a voice in the direction of the arrow. "I thought a novice like yourself knew to stay away from these guys, 'specially since you live around here, right?"

It was the girl from before. Only now, she had sprouted… wings, on her head. Was she the one who was laughing a while ago? She had followed him? The very girl cocked her head and grinned. "So what're you doing messing with a Metaling, kid? By the Midgard books, they're… well, damn the books and they're still way more powerful than you are right now. But I do like books. I'm reading one right now, Confessions of a Bongun-Obsessed Zombie Girl. Poor Mun-mun, she deserves better…"

"Er, thank you," Asher hesitantly cut in, "and thanks also for saving me from that stall owner back there. Pardon my rudeness, but what are those wings on your head? And you said that wasn't a poring?" He remembered then that there were different types of poring-type creatures and shut his mouth, wishing he hadn't spoken.

"Wow, lots of questions there. These? I took 'em off a while ago, since I didn't want that old geezer to over-price me. And that metaling… you don't know about them? You live around here – or maybe you don't?" Without waiting for him to answer, she went on, "They say metalings were a product of some magician's mad experiments with a poring or a poporing, or some –ring-ling blob thing around here. Hey, that rhymed! Wish I could do that more often without meaning to, but if wishes were horses, beggars would ride, you know?"

She must've noticed my mouth was open, because her face turned sheepish and she said, "Oh, sorry, I tend to ramble a lot. You have to tell me when to stop, or I'll keep going. Telling me to shut up won't hurt my feelings much – well, I DID backhand that guy in Golden Boar Inn when he did, but he was so rude, ya know? Oh, see, I did it again! I'll be quiet. Let's take a look at your wound over there."

Asher blinked, thrown off by the sudden question. What had she meant – then he winced, feeling the burning sensation on his arm, the adrenaline leaving his body. The arm where the metaling hit him was bright red, and beginning to swell in a few places. The girl clucked her tongue sympathetically.

"Metalings are a little more acidic than porings. We'll wash that off."

She took out a kit from her backpack. Opening it, she drew out a bottle, a small cloth, and a roll of bandages. She poured a bit of the liquid from the bottle onto the affected area of Asher's arm. Asher hissed, then sighed with relief as his skin mended. The girl nodded with approval, and began to lay the cloth over his arm. He waited, but the cloth didn't come in contact with his skin. He looked over to his rescuer, and saw that her hand had frozen over his wound, and that she was looking at his wound, her face scrunched up with concetration and perhaps... disbelief?

"What's wrong?" asked Asher, worried. Whether for himself or for the girl, he wasn't certain. She remained where she was.

"Where did you get that wound? The one before the metaling attack; you don't get these from metalings."

He looked at his forearm. A small splotch skin had turned a gray tint, and a thin scar the length of his pinky ran down the middle of it. For a moment he could not think of where he had gotten it; then he remembered the way his arm burned just a few hours ago, in that dark realm…

He jerked his arm away. "Nowhere. It's nothing. You wouldn't believe me, anyway."

She faced him with the strangest look on her features. "Is that so?"

"Yes, it is," he insisted. Asher looked away, uncomfortable. Even if she had saved him, she was still a stranger, and he didn't feel like sharing his tale when he knew she would laugh at it. So he jumped, startled, when the girl clapped him in a friendly desicive manner (_This girl doesn't know her own strength_, he thought darkly, rubbing his now smarting back) and stood up with a grin.

"Well, it looks like if I don't help you out for a while, you're gonna be killed," she announced, "so I guess I have no choice but to help you out, at least for a while. Nice to meet you!" She held her hand out imperiously, as if she were a guild leader greeting a new member. When Asher just looked at it, dumbfounded, she frowned.

"What's wrong? Oh!" she brightened. "Silly me. My name… well, it's not really my name, it's sort of a title, which is why it's so weird – is Twilight Bow. I prefer it with a 'the' at the front so it doesn't sound so weird. You can call me that or Twigh or Twilight, but not Light or Bow. Actually, don't call me THE Twilight Bow, it'll draw attention, and it sounds egoistical. I like Twilight better, but its too near my whole title, so Twigh's okay." She grabbed his had and pulled him up. She lifted him up like he was a twig (he wasn't scrawney or anything, just slender), and Asher staggered on his feet.

"Well, looks like you had enough fun for today. And it's not twilight anymore – no pun intended. We should make camp." She grinned, looking pleased with herself. Asher, on the other hand, was still trying to catch up.

"Wait. I don't – well… We just met, and there are a lot of other people starting out. Are you sure you want to help me? I don't have any money to pay you, unless…" he looked at her, suddenly apprehensive as the thought occurred to him.

"What's with that look on – hey, that's totally unaccounted for!" she exclaimed, looking mildly scandalized. "For your information, I am completely uninterested with younger men, and with that attitude, you're gonna be a complete turn-off for any girls that look your way. Also, I already explained why I offered. Can't live with myself if a person I coulda helped gets mauled; and judging by what happened now, I'd say that's a distinct possibility."

Asher opened his mouth, ready to object, and then stopped. She did seem sincere, and she was right. He knew nothing about the world outside his city's walls, and he made it painfully obvious to her and himself that he was as helpless as a newborn babe with anything that didn't concern the coal he was actually trained to know. With her around, he was guaranteed to last longer. He thought about it a little longer, and then sighed, trying to smile.

"Thanks, Miss Twigh."

She grinned. "Raised up proper, weren't you? Right then; call me Ness, no titles. That's part of my real name and I prefer it more than Twigh; it attracts even less attention and sounds nicer."

Asher wondered briefly why she was so worried about catching attention. Was she famous? He opened his mouth to ask, but what came out was a yawn. He realized how tired he felt. The day had been quite eventful. Ness seemed to be thinking along the same lines, because she nodded understandingly.

"Long day, huh? And a healing wound always make a guy drowsy. Go to sleep; I'll take first watch. Oh yeah, what's your name?"

Ness turned to him, waiting, then smiled. He had already fallen asleep.

o


End file.
